The Many Faces of Arthur Kirkland
by JustDrinkTea
Summary: Every aspect of England's personality highlighted individually each chapter. And maybe a few pairings and/or historical events as well. Rated T just in case... and for later chapters when he's drunk. Next chapter- Pirate!England
1. Chibi

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. But, with Hetalia fanfiction, technically, you can own the world. Think about it...**

**Omi-chan: So, I've had this idea for a long time. I wanted to start it after I finished band camp, but then I had a bunch of summer homework to do because I'm a procrastinator. And then school started, and I had even more stuff to do, so I haven't really gotten around to writing. Thank gott for weekends. I don't plan on going in any order with the chapters, so if I skip something timeline wise that you'd like to see, drop me a message or a review and your request will be granted. =D**

**Also, sorry in advance for any grammatical errors, I'm pretty tired XD**

Wrapping his thin, green cloak tightly around him, the small sandy-blond boy trudged through the snow. Beneath his cloak, he wore only a cream-colored tunic, his feet and legs bare. Denmark had stolen his shoes _again, _leaving young England's feet cold and wet. He had chased the taller boy for a while, but in the knee-deep snow, he soon found that he was at a disadvantage and gave up the race after a while.

England looked around, trying to figure out where he was, though all he could gather was that he was in an unfamiliar forest in the middle of winter. Wonderful. The nation's breath was a visible mist, his cheeks flushed red from the cold, and his torso trembling. His lower half had become numb quite some time ago, but he somehow managed to keep his small legs working as he searched for familiar territory. Sleepily, he wiped his green eyes with a tiny fist. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt tiny ice crystals clinging to his eyelashes.

_Stupid Denmark,_ he thought as he continued on, _this is all his fault. And France for not helping me, the bloody frog._

He was growing more tired now. Whether it was from the cold or long distance he'd walked through snow, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was a combination of both. "I-I'll just lay d-d-d-down for a few min-minutes," he said quietly as he shook, curling into a ball in the snow. "Dogs s-s-sleep i-i-in the snow all t-t-the time... so I should b-be able t-to."

But as soon as he closed his eyes, he felt something tugging on a section of his hair. "Don't fall asleep!" said a small, feminine voice.

The boy took it all as a sign of insanity, and ignored it. There was no one there, so he just _had _to be hearing things. There was no other explination for it. Or at least that's what he thought until something much bigger nudged him from behind, effectively flipping him onto his stomach.

Now thuroghly confused and annoyed, England sat up and opened his eyes. He let out a cry of surprise and scrambled back several paces when he was greeted by a truly strange sight. There was an old man with a long beard who looked to be about the same height as the boy, an even smaller, red woman with wings who looked like she could fit in your palm, and a white horse with a single horn on its head.

"Wh-who are y-you?" he demanded, clutching his cloak closer to his body. He knew that he didn't sound or look very intimidating, but he tried to make his voice sound assertive and older than it actually was.

The small woman flew close to the boy and placed a tiny hand on his lips. "Shhh," she said comforting. "I'll make introductions fast. I'm a fairy, have you heard of faries before?"

England shook his head.

She smiled gently. "My name is Scarlet." She flew over to the strange horse hurriedly and stood on its nose. "He's a unicorn, but he doesn't really have a name, but we all call him Uni. And our gnome," she motioned to the small man, "is called Brownie."

Brownie grunted in response, looking rather grumpy.

"I-I'm England," the blond responded between shivers, "but-but my n-n-name is A-Arthur."

Scarlet flew back over to him. "Well Arthur," she said with a sweet smile. "We're going to take you somewhere nice and warm, okay?"

England nodded. "O-okay." Brownie helped him stand and wobble over to the unicorn, who knelt down so the boy could climb aboard. Arthur held as tightly as his numb fingers would allow on the horse's mane. He buried his face in its hair. He was warm and comfortable, and when they started moving, he moved quickly, but made sure not to bounce too much. It wasn't too much longer before England fell asleep to the rhythm of the unicorn's movements.

* * *

When Arthur woke up again, his whole body was warm again. He could hear the crackling of a fire and felt several blankets and coats piled ontop of him. But best of all, he could feel on his feet- _socks._ He gave his toes an experimental wiggle and was delighted to find they still worked properly and were toasty in their new wool homes.

He sat up and looked around at his new surroundings. He was in a small cave, the entrance not too far from where he lay, the outside world raging in a snowstorm, looking very uninviting. His cloak had been hung close to the fire to dry out, and sitting across from him was a man Arthur had yet to meet. He looked like he would be tall, were he to stand, and thin, too, his face was pleasant and a curly black mustache sat proudly upon his upper lip.

The man must've felt the boy's gaze because he looked up from tending the fire at the boy and smiled. Then he called over his shoulder, "He's awake!"

Seemingly out of no where, the three who had greeted him in the forest appeared along with...

"It's a flying mint bunny!" Arthur exclaimed upon seeing the strange creature. As if being called, it glided over ot Arthur and began snuggling itself into the crook of the boy's neck like an affectionate puppy.

Scarlet laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Well, I guess you could call it that." She then turned to introduce the man sitting by the fire. "This is Roberts."

"Pleasure." Roberts and Arthur said in sync. Then they all started laughing, save for Brownie who still wore a scowl. Arthur began to believe that was the gnome's normal expression. That or he really didn't like the new boy.

After they'd had their fill of laughter, young Arthur asked a question directed at Scarlet, but meant for everyone in the room to hear and answer. We're friendsnow, right? he asked, his voice hopeful. These people had saved him and they were all so kind. They were much better company than that frog Francis and the troublesome Dane, Mathias, he decided.

"If you'd like us to be friends," was the response.

Arthur nodded enthusiastically.

"Then yes, we're friends."

"Forever? Until I'm not a country anymore?"

Scarlet smiled reassuringly and flew over to the boy. Arthur cupped his hands in front of him and she landed gracefully on his palms. "Forever."

**Omi-chan: It's so... I don't know. Bad? Good? What do you readers think? Was it a good way to start out this fic? I hope so. And I'm sorry I suck at naming mythical creatures. I stole several names from other fanfics I'd read over the last few months. (If any are yours tell me, and I'll give you credit!) And about Brownie, I know he's kinda happy looking in the anime, but for some reason, I see him as a grouch. *Shrug* I dunno why. **

**Next up is either Magic!England or Britannia Angel. Not sure which yet.**

_Review, s'il vous plait~ I'd love to know what you think!_


	2. Wizard

England's basement was a place very few dared to enter. Piles of boxes and books, wardrobes and old trunks filled with pirates' clothing, a hat rack with hats ranging from big and feathered to classy bowlers, old suits of armor, broadswords and other trinkets filled almost the entire space available. Young America had ventured down into the depths once or twice in search of adventure only to run back upstairs crying, babbling about ghosts and the sort.

But for the most part, England himself was the only one un-phased by the eerie aura of the place. Which was why, as he made his way down the creaky, wooden steps, he wore an unamused and annoyed expression in place of one of uncertainty. His clothes were hidden by the long, forest green cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The hood covered most of his hair and cast a dark shadow over his face which only his emerald-colored eyes were able to penetrate.

Finally, the stairs came to an end and England's feet came in contact with the wooden floor. Not pausing for even a moment, he continued walking to the center of the large room and pushed aside several of the boxes that stood in his way. Once he had finished clearing a large enough space, he reached into one of the pockets of his cloak and pulled out a white piece of chalk which had been reduced to only being about two inches tall. Then, the nation knelt down and began drawing a huge circle which had a diameter of approximately two Englands.

Inside the original circle, he drew more complex shapes and runes of which are too complicated to describe in words. Every once in a while, he used the heel of his palm to rub out remnants of past summoning and spell circles, but other than those few moments, his movements were careful and nonstop. After he completed his task, England gingerly stood, careful not to get any chalk dust on his pants, and scanned the circle for any errors.

He found none.

With a satisfied smirk, England turned on his heel and made his way over to one of the many bookshelves, taking long, quick strides. He ran a finger over the dusty spines of the many books, most of which were written in runes unfamiliar to the English language or the English of Anglo-Saxons, which only a few in the world were able to decipher. Selecting a worn, faded red book from the shelf, he returned to his circle and began flipping through the musty pages, muttering as he did.

"Stupid America... the wanker. I'll teach him this time- Aha!" Finding the page he had searched for, a smirk broke onto his face yet again. He read over the spell a good number of times before he was certain he had it correctly set in his mind.

He took a deep breath and began reciting a chant in a language not commonly spoken in any country of this world. The circle which lay at his feet began to glow a multitude of colors- reds, greens, yellows, blues, and most of all, a blinding white. "And now," England spoke in an ominous tone, "I summon thee from the darkest depths of the spirit world!" He thrust his arm out in front of him, fingers spread in a commanding sort of way and palm angled towards the floor.

A strong gust of wind blasted from the center of the circle, rattling the old trinkets in the room and blowing back England's hood from his head, his hair and cloak flying about unceremoniously. His eyes squeezed close and his free arm rose to block his face in defense from the strong gust. Then, in an instant, it all stopped; the lights and the wind ceased to exist.

When the nation again looked at the circle, he saw, to his delight, a black figure hovering above the ground. The dark spirit had no shape and was continuously shifting. Any who had yet to see a demon would be terrified by the sight, but England was able to take a confident and unnerving step forward towards the creature.

"Are you my master whom has summoned me?" the demon asked in a strange, whispery voice.

"I am." replied England with an unwavering confidence.

Though England couldn't see it, he sensed that if the creature's mouth were visible, it would be smiling a wide, toothy grin. "Then how may I, the servant, serve you, master?"

England tilted his head up in a manner that resonated superiority. "I want you to haunt a nation- The United States of America to be precise. No doubt you're familiar with him."

There was that aura of a smile again. "No doubt. And if I may be so bold, master, may I inquire as to _why _you wish for such a command?"

The nation scowled. "He ruined my Marmite sandwiches."

The creature laughed. "Is that all?"

"No, it's not all! It was the bloody last straw is what it was!" Now England was beginning to go off on a rant. "Prank calling me at two in the morning, saying my scones (which I made for him, by the way) were inedible and- actually, he didn't say the word _inedible,_ I don't think he's smart enough to know the word, that git. What he said was something along the lines of 'It was so nasty and disgusting I almost died!' And then there was this other time..."

~10 minutes later~

"...and _that's _my reason for summoning you to haunt him." England finally concluded.

"Fascinating," responded the demon in a tone which suggested it wasn't at all interested in England's reason anymore. "Now, if you please, may I leave?"

"What? Oh, yes, yes, go on," England said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

With an almost inaudible sigh of relief, the creature dissolved from England's view, and made its way onto America's house.

* * *

Of course, for the next three weeks, England got repeated calls from a very frightened America at early and bitter hours in the morning. But if you asked the tea-drinking nation, the small annoyances were worth seeing the younger blond talk with a shaky voice as he continuously peered over his shoulder during the world meetings.

**Omi-chan: Whoot! It's updated! Thank goodness. I've been meaning to get on but then my English teacher was all like "I feel like assigning you a paper. Go write it." So I had to do that. Stupid Frankenstein. Hated that book; it was depressing. But anywho, thank you to everyone who put this story on alert, I get excited every time I get an email for this story (which is more than I expected to get with it just starting and all). So make me happier and review and fave~ Please? **

**And by the way, have you ever tried reading Anglo-Saxon English? It's pretty much impossible. Don't believe me? Go look for yourself. Really, just google it. I'm sure you'll find something no problem.**

**Also, don't forget you can make requests and add your ideas to my very long list ;) Just drop me a PM!**

**Next up... Drunk England. Oh, this'll be interesting.**

_Review and you get 20 Iggy points~ You know you want them._


	3. Drunk

**Note: Some words are going to be misspelled. That's because Iggy is drunk. Not because I can't spell.**

England sat with his head laying on the hard wood of the bar, his hand clutching an empty glass, wet from condensation. On either side of him sat France and America, also holding their own glasses, though neither of them were in the state the Brit was.

England raised a lazy arm in an attempt to drink from the glass, only to find there was nothing left. "My drink is g...gone! When -hic- did tha happen? Wh-who drank my dr...drink?"

It had all started out innocently enough. France had invited America and England out for a drink or two after the conclusion of the meeting, not exactly an unusual offer for a couple of friends (Though as we all know, England would never admit to being friends with the Frenchman), and both nations had agreed to meet him at the bar.

The moment France announced he would be paying for it all, England had turned to the bartender and ordered the most expensive thing he could think of. Unfortunately, the most expensive also turned out to be the most alcoholic. Two or three of them later, heck, he was so drunk he couldn't even remember the name of it anymore, England found himself in a rather dream-like state.

"He...hey bar guy..." he addressed the bartender in his slurred speech, "I ne... I need another -hic- wan o'these!"

"_Angleterre," _France said quietly, patting the other nation on the back._ "_I think it's best if you don-"

"Damn frog! Do... don't tell me how to live my life!" England yelled back much louder than he probably should've as the bartender reluctantly handed him another glass of something the man probably should _not_ be drinking.

America laughed and took a swig from his own drink. "Man, he's gonna have one helluva headache when he wakes up tomorrow!"

The only two words the drunken blond had understood from his former colony's mouth were "wakes up." Promptly, he slapped the younger boy across his face.

America gaped in shock and covered his injured cheek. "Wha... wha..."

"Dammit, America! NO ONE BLOODY CARES IF YOU WAKE UP FEELING LIKE P. DIDDY! NOW SHUDDUP!"

"What are you _talking _about?

A very distraught France put a hand to his forehead, sighing. Perhaps this _hadn't_been the best way to get into England's pants tonight. Maybe if he could catch the other nation, he would be able to... wait. Where'd England go? When France looked up, he found an empty seat next to him, and an injured America, rubbing his head and cursing under his breath.

"_Amérique... où avez-Angleterre aller?"_

"Dude!" America said, sounding rather angry and annoyed. He stopped rubbing his head and practically glared up at the Frenchman. "I don't speak French! All I know is stuff like "hola" and crap like that."

"...That's Spainsh." France said bluntly, a bit annoyed that someone, even an idiot like America, would confuse his beautiful language with one so... _unbeautiful _like Spanish. It was bad enough that his brother had gone off and made his own version of French.

"WHATEVER!"

France sighed again. Apparently, America became easily annoyed after and/or while drinking. "Where. Is. _Anglettere?_"

"Oh. Well, he hit me, and then ran off somewhere..."

"ALL YA NEED IZ LOOOOOVE~ DOO DOO DOO DOOOOOO!"

"...Actually," America said in a worried tone. "I found him."

Both blond nations turned slowly turned around and to their horror, they had indeed found England. And he was having, as one might say a "jolly good time." Though others might say something such as, "He was slowly turning the place into a gay bar."

The latter statement was probably more accurate.

There were several shouts of "Whoo! Take it off!" as the drunk blond nation slowly and rather seductively unbuttoned his shirt whilst standing on top of a table. Someone took out their iPod and began playing some music (extremely loudly, by the way) for him to strip to.

The two nations heard the bartender mumble something along the lines of "Not again..." behind them before he went along his business, ignoring the scene as much as humanly possible.

America and France looked at each other slowly, then both scrambled off their stools and stumbled (hey, neither of them were exactly sober) over to the table before England was able to start working on his pants- he had already succeeded in ridding himself of his brown belt. America grabbed the older nation's legs, causing England to look down at him.

"A... America..." England said quietly after staring at the nation for a brief second, his eyes filling with tears. "You... you came back!" He fell down to his knees and embraced his colony in a too-tight-to-breathe hug. "I tuld them that -hic- stupid rev... rev'lution was justa phase!"

America let go of the other's legs and worked on getting himself free, and England looked up and his eyes met his rival's. "Fr... France is here, too. Can't be-be helped, guess."

The Frenchman was about to say something to redeem himself from the insult, but before he could, England stood, releasing America, and dropped his pants so he was standing in nothing but his boxers.

Several things happened next:

1. A chorus of cheers erupted from the crowd surrounding England  
2. France grabbed the nearest drink, chugged it, and decided there was still a chance his plan would work  
3. France jumped up onto the table and promptly began molesting the other nation  
4. More cheering  
5. America tried to pry France off England  
6. The police (summoned by the bartender) showed up and arrested the three nations.

As the police dragged out- literally- England, he yelled repeatedly "I HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!" While America kept telling him to stop yelling in his ear.

And as for France, well, there were beds in jail, now weren't there? A creepy smile spread across his face as he thought about what he planned on doing to England. And what was better, now he had _Amérique._

**Omi-chan: Fail humor is fail. I am disappoint. I... I tried! I really did. Don't hate me.**

**On an unrelated note, however, thank you to everyone who has put this story on alert and faves (but it'd be nice if you'd review *hint hint*)! I hope that I can make it worth your reading time.**

**Someone last chapter asked what they could redeem Iggy points for? I have no idea yet, seeing as I never thought of them being redeemable. Just keep track of them and I'll figure out something. XD**

**Next up is... I honestly don't know. I have a long list, but I haven't picked one for next chapter. Suggestions?**

_Review~ And... I'll be happy? =D Just review!_


	4. A Couple of Questions

Heya guys, sorry to disappoint, but this is not a new chapter of The Many Faces of Arthur Kirkland. No, this is in fact me asking you guys what you want to see.

Now, I've been mentioning things like "Send me requests for chapters!" but this isn't about that. Nope, actually, I have a few questions about what you'd like to see specifically regarding a few future chapters. I've been debating on how to set scenarios up for these two chapters, and after a long time of not knowing what to do, I've decided to ask you what you want to see.

1**. Pirate!England**  
Do you guys want to see:

a) Defeat of the Spanish armada  
b) Captive!Spain [this would probably turn into a Dark!England chap]  
c) General pirate stuff

2. **Police!England**

a) A paring along with this? [If so, who?]  
b) General police stuff

Now, as far as "General stuff" goes, I'll make it interesting, don't worry about that. Also, nothing I write will turn this fic into an M rated fic. Because 1) I'm too scared to do that 2) I'd still like to keep a shred of innocence and 3) I love my real life friends, but if they found out I was writing that stuff... *shudder*

So anyway! Pick one for each prompt [wow, I sound like an English teacher], unless you'd like to see both a & b for Pirate. Because I can make that happen.

ONE MORE THING. What is your fave Iggy pairing. Pick one and one only, please~

Thanks guys, I'll have a new chapter [which may or may not be Hungover!England because two people now have mentioned it to me] up as soon as I can okay?

-Omi-chan

Ps. Reply via review, s'il vous plait. Unless you'd prefer PM, but it's easier to check reviews on my phone. The mobile site doesn't let you see PM's. They need to fix that.


	5. Hungover

When England woke up, he was confused, cold, in serious need of an ibuprofen for his headache, laying on the floor, in nothing but his boxers, and... cuddled up to France?

Letting out a very un-manly scream, he scrambled away from the frenchman and backed up against the nearest wall. His eyes wide and his breath heavy from surprise, he looked around. "Wha... Why the bloody hell am I in a jail cell?" Against the opposite wall, there was an old cot serving as a bed and in the corner, a very terrified America. The young nation was sitting with his knees drawn close to his chest, rocking back and forth, and mumbling to himself.

"Ah, _Angleterre, mon cher, _you're-"

"Sh-shut up, you frog!" England yelled, pointing at the other nation dramatically. "What did you do? ...ow!" Realizing for the first time since he had woken up how badly his head was pounding, he curled his hands into fists, tugging at his hair as he did.

France sat up, and England saw that he was also wearing nothing but boxers. The French perv pouted. "You forgot _all_ about last night?"

America continued to rock. "So... so SCARY. I... I can't! DON'T MAKE ME!" He stared wide-eyed at nothing as he screamed.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPP- OW!" England rubbed his temples. People need to stop yelling. Including himself, as he found out. "What. Did. You. Do, you bloody frog?"

"If you can't remember, _je ne vais pas vous dire_!" Devestated, he buried his head in his hands.

England ran to the door of the cell. "Someone let me out of this place!" he cried, scrunching his eyes in pain. "Please... please... Ow, my head." Curling up into a fetal position, the Brit clutched at his skull. "The light... it's too bright. Make it go out!" He crawled to the bed and pulled off the blanket, draping it over himself. "Wh-y me? Why me? Why me? Why? Kill me, someone kill me. Please. Electric chair! I-I'll go to the gallows, even. Just kill me."

Through the blanket, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist. "I could never kill you, _Angleterre_. I know something else we can do to cure your headache~"

America began to wail.

**Omi-chan: This. Is. Fail. I'm sorry. Again. This was very short, but that's mostly because I couldn't think of much for this chapter. And it's late, I'm tired, and let's admit it, lazy. But hopefully you found it amusing? At least?**

**Okay, so thanks everyone for voting last chapter, and here are the results *cheers*:**

**Pirate!Iggy  
-There was a BLOODY TIE. So, it's going to be kind of a mix of all the choices for it, I guess.  
-Because there was a mix (which I suppose I could've just done that in the first place =_=), it will probably be a longer chapter. Yay! Be happy.**

**Police!Iggy  
-Most people wanted general police stuff, so that's what you're all gonna get!  
-AeraKira suggested murder case so I plan on throwing that into the mix**

**Also, the whole murder case thing made me think of doing a Sherlock Holmes kind of thing, so be prepared for that in the near-ish future.**

**And wow, you people like some strange pairings XD And this note is becoming really long. Sorry.**

**Next chapter: Pirate or Punk Rocker. =] Still must decide.**

_Review, s'il vous plait. S'il vous plait?_


	6. FatherBig Brother Figure

Rain. Not an uncommon occurrence in England. So when young America shook the British nation awake one night, England couldn't help but be a little confused. "Wh... what is it, lad?" England inquired sleepily, rolling over to face the young boy.

America looked up at the man with wide, blue eyes, clutching a yellow blanket tightly in his little fists, covering his mouth and nose with the soft material. "The storm..." he said quietly from behind his blankey. Then, as if on cue, a loud shot of thunder rang from outside the large house. The boy buried his eyes in the blanket before the lightning flashed. "Can I sleep with you?" he begged, his voice muffled.

England sighed. "You were begging me to play outside in the rain all day today, America. It's no different."

_"America, come in here, you'll get a cold!"_

_"But Iggy, I don't wanna!"_

_"I don't care. Look, you're soaking wet and- WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO TO YOUR CLOTHES?"_

_"...I was making mud-pies."_

_"Get inside and get in the bath."_

_"Please, England, please? Can't I just play for a little longer?"_

_"Not unless you want to get sick. Now, come on."_

America peeked out from beneath his makeshift shield. "It is too different! The ghosts like to come out at night and then... then the thunder..." he glanced away from the older nation. "They like the thunder or... or something," he mumbled.

England listened and propped his head up on his elbow. "But Alfred," he said, referring the boy by his name instead of his country's, "I thought that heroes weren't supposed to get scared?" What better way of cheering up the lad than his favorite subject?

America considered it for a moment. "But ghosts are scary. He... heroes can get scared _sometimes,_can't they?" He gripped his blanket even thighter than before, as if fearing that England would send him back to his own room. If it were any other night that he was scared, he would have made a fort with his brother. But Canada was at France's house for the weekend, leaving the young hero by himself.

Smiling, England sat up and leaned forward, picking up the small boy and setting him next to him on the bed. "Well, yes," he said, laying back down. "I suppose they can get scared sometimes." America grinned and crawled under the blankets before cuddling up to the Brit, his face in the man's chest and listening to his heart.

**_The next day..._**

"_Achoo!"_

"Bloody hell, America! This is why I told you to come inside!" England complained as he wiped the boy's nose. He had woken up with, you guessed it, a cold. A good old fashioned, sneezes-and-sniffles cold.

America sniffled and took another spoonful of hot soup into his mouth. "I'm sorry, Iggy." For once, he wasn't whining about the soup and how terrible it tasted. That would be because his red nose was so plugged he couldn't breathe through it, so forget about tasting anything.

"And you ruined your pants, too! I couldn't get all the mud out of them."

America looked down guiltily. "I'm sorry. And... uhm..." he bit his lip. "I'm sorry about _achoo!_" he sniffled again, "And... I'm sorry about the mess I made in the flowerbed."

"...You dug up my flowerbed?"

"Only the tulips." He paused. "And the poppies. And probably the daises."

"ALFRED!"

**Omi-chan: So, it's another shorter chapter. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry it took so long. But I was like "Hey, I'm gonna do the pirate chapter next!" So I started it, but it's taking me a lot longer than I expected. I'm 2'000 words in and I'm not even close to being done D: What. Sigh... But I figured that you guys would think I died momentarily if I waited until I was finished with this super long chapter. And I don't know how long that's gonna be. Sorry.**

**[So France... I promised you I'd leave you a note. Here it is. Congratulations. :) ]**

_Review. And then you'll get a hug from a little America :D_


	7. Pirate Part 1

**Warning: Human names used! **

The ocean breeze ruffled blond hair, leaving salt crystals to cover the locks. The young man sat on the front rail of a very large ship, the raging water beneath him nothing more than captivating sight as he sang.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We pillage and pluder, we rilfe and loot.  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life-"

"Alfred, you git! Will you stop with that bloody song, already?"

The blond turned, swinging one leg over the railing, straddling it so as to keep his balance. His captain, being the one who addressed him, was dressed in a long blue and gold coat. Two leather belts criss-crossed over his waist, holding numerous pistols and a sword. Sitting atop his sandy hair was a rather large hat with an oversized feather, but even that was barely enough to distract unfamiliar eyes from the gemmed rings and ear jewelry that adorned his body. His brown, well-worn leather boots reached almost to his knees, covering most of his breeches.

"But Arrrtie!" whined Alfred with a pouting lip. He himself chose not to wear such lavish clothes, they got in the way much too easily. No, a simple loose, once-white shirt and a pair of breeches were enough for the simple deckhand, though the carefree lad _did_enjoy the aura he shed when he carried a pistol or two in addition. And of course, there was the black eyepatch he wore. Everyone on the ship knew it was fake, but why not let the boy have his fun?

"Alfred! I am your captain and you will address me as such!" said Arthur in a commanding tone.

Alfred was silent for a moment. Then he began whining again. "But _Captain_ Arrrtie!"

Arthur facepalmed. How? How was it that _he_, one of the most feared pirate captains to ever sail the seven seas, had ended up with such an idiot on his ship? The boy had shown promise as a young lad, several years back. Oh, where had it all gone? And so fast! Trying to contain his temper, the captain sighed. "Isn't there something you should be doing?"

"Mmmh... no." Alfred replied with an idiotic grin.

Arthur felt his eye twitch. "Yes there is."

"No, I'm pretty sure there isn't."

"Go help the cook."

"But I-"

"I don't care. Go help the bloody cook, Alfred."

"I-"

"Do you _want _me to throw you overboard again?"

Alfred fell silent. "...no." he said in a small voice.

"Then go." Arthur pointed in the direction of the kitchen, watching with satisfaction as the boy sulked his way past the captain. If there was anything that boy needed to learn, it was... actually, the list of things Alfred could learn was _long._ So we won't bother going into that right now. It's for the best, really.

A sudden, yet timid tap on his shoulder brought Arthur back from his thoughts. With an angry sigh, he turned around. "Alfred, what is it now- oh." He found himself facing not Alfred, but his twin brother. His very shy, very quiet, very... _forgettable_ twin brother. Oh, what was his name, again? The boy bit his bottom lip nervously, looking up at his captain with his huge, purple eyes. "What is it, lad?" Arthur asked in a gentle tone. Unlike the loud American, this boy wasn't one that you needed to be harsh with.

And thank God for that. One Alfred was enough, thank you very much.

"Well, um, captain, you told me to inform you when we were about to make port, and-"

"Great, Matthew," _that_ was his name! "How much longer?"

The boy started playing with the ends of his sleeves. "About an hour or so..."

"Wonderful."

* * *

Port Royal. Also known as one of the most wicked places on earth. Especially at night. Drunks swung and danced around the street, not paying much attention to the pirate captain as he made his way calmly through the chaos. People yelled in his ears, offering him, in their slurred words, pretty ladies for a hundred pieces of eight each. Somewhere behind him, he heard the beginning of a silly, merry song followed by howls of laughter. But Arthur paid them all little attention; he had his eyes set on one place, and one place only. And that was a drinking house whose name had been forgotten long ago.

Arthur had business to attend to- alone. He had dismissed his crew into the sin-filled city to spend their shares of treasure however they pleased. "Watch for the signal," he'd said before letting them go their separate ways. "We leave then."

Matthew had, as usual at Port Royal, volunteered to stay behind and watch the ship in his shipmates' absence. Of course, the boy had no problem with going out for a bottle of rum, and joking with fellow pirates, but this specific port was too much for him. And besides, someone had to watch the ship.

Nonchalantly, Arthur opened up the wooden door to the drinking house. The room was bathed in yellow light, and most of the occupants drunk or well on their way. Pretty women with low-cut dresses sitting on the laps of the pirates, everyone enjoying themselves in a very loud fashion. A gunshot rang out, and a bullet lodged itself in the wood of the wall not far from Arthur's head. Everyone was silent for a moment before bursting into fits of laughs.

Almost immediately, the captain found the culprit- a wasted man waving a bottle in one hand, his gun in the other, smoke still rising from the barrel. With an almost bored sigh, Arthur pulled out one of his own pistols and wordlessly shot him in the chest.

More laughter erupted from the drunks. _Barbarians, all of them._ Arthur thought as he slipped his gun back into its place.

"That was quite an entrance, _captain._" The voice addressing him wasn't very loud, but the man's tone was easily picked out from the white noise that surrounded them.

"I don't have much patience tonight," Arthur replied as he sat down at an old table. "So you'd better hold up your part of the deal tonight, Francis."

The French pirate smirked and casually put his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair slightly. "What, you don't trust me? _Mon ami,_that hurts. It's because I'm French, isn't it?" Francis was the kind that you could recognize from across the room; he always wore large, loose, white shirts, tight breeches, and extravagant earrings. His smile grew when he saw the Englishman's eyebrow twitch in annoyance. "_Oui, oui_, I have it right here." He held up a rolled up piece of parchment. "And my money?"

From a pocket in his jacket, Arthur produced a small leather pouch. The gold coins inside jingled as he tossed it lightly to the opposite side of the table where Francis sat. "_There's_ your money, you bloody frog," he said, snatching the paper when it was offered. "If you want to keep your life today," Arthur said as he stood, "you may want to leave this tavern soon."

Then without waiting for a response, the blond captain turned and strode back through the door into the night of Port Royal. Outside, Alfred was waiting for him, a torch in his hand.

"That's a good lad," Arthur said as he took the torch from the boy. He ushered the boy so he was far enough away from the tavern and then proceeded to toss the fire over his shoulder, setting the place ablaze almost instantly.

"And was that the signal, captain?" Alfred asked as the two calmly walked away from the scene.

"It was indeed. We set sail as soon as possible."

* * *

Gilbert rolled out the map onto a barrel. He fished out a compass from his pocket and placed it next to the old parchment, studying it for a moment before tracing a path out with his finger across the old map. "We got lucky, captain! It's awesome, really, the treasure's due east according to this map!"

"Really now?" Arthur inquired, leaning over the paper to see clearer.

"Kesesesese! Of course! I'm the best navigator there is!" The albino grinned.

Arthur mumbled to himself. "You've only disproved that thrice now this month..."

"See, here's Port Royal, and here's about where we are now." He pointed to the respective places on the map. "Here is where we need to go." Gilbert dragged his finger until he hit a small island, tapping it twice for emphasis.

"How long?"

Gilbert thought for a moment. "Four days if the weather's awesome."

Arthur grinned and stepped away from the barrel for a moment. Then he yelled so that every one of his crewmen was able to hear him, "All right boys, we're going digging!"

A chorus of cheers erupted from the crew.

_**To be continued...**_

**Omi-chan: Yes. That's right. I'm splitting the pirate chapter into two chapters. The second part will be mainly about the defeat of the Spanish armada and what-not :) **

**I don't have much to say about this chapter. Except that it took longer than it should've. But I get distraced so. Easily. D: It's not a good thing, really. Somehow, though, I managed to make it through! Whoot!**

**Regarding last chapter's reviews... Sadface. I only got two. Well, one because no one likes Hinata Uzumaki-sama's reviews. (She's my friend, I'm allowed to say mean things. Right, France? Je t'aime~) SO I BETTER SEE MORE REVIEWS ON THIS ONE. Mostly because I don't feel like you guys like my writing if I don't see any feedback. **

**Next chapter: TBA. It'll just depend on my mood.**

_Review and all your dreams will come true~_


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